


An Odyssey of Love and Marriage

by WildcatPacer



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 18:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18922627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildcatPacer/pseuds/WildcatPacer
Summary: I read Fanfic Allergy's kaleidoscope work, Patchwork, and fell in love with their minimalist Chapter 21 known as Odyssey. I just had to expand it into a full length fic! Please, enjoy!





	1. Kisses Ensnare

**Chapter 1: Kisses Ensnare**

I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I finally attained freedom. Or, at least, as much freedom as you can get in a place like District 12, the poorest district in Panem. Older kids that I know have said you feel a certain weight lift off your shoulders once you are free of the Reaping.

For me, freedom from the Reaping and the Hunger Games has been mine for all of three days. And yet, I don't feel any different. And yet, I still feel nothing.

Gale would probably laugh at me, if I told him any of this. He's been beyond the Reaping for two years now, and is looking very much a man at the prime age of 20. He is the oldest of five children in the prominent Hawthorne brood. Works in the mines every day except for Sundays. It's a fine profession - well, almost one of the only professions available to a man in this district - but I know his widowed mother, Hazelle, won't be satisfied. She will be looking for her eldest son to further secure his future. And having seen the looks girls send his way, I know there are plenty of takers.

I won't be among them in line though. Now with my future guaranteed ahead of me, I have only become more resolved in my vow to die unmarried and childless. I don't know what trade I will learn to support myself once I move out from the home I share with Mother and Prim in the Seam. Probably hunting, as I have always done. I can make that into a life, right? Mother might disagree, but I don't care.

This bright summer's day is slightly cooler than the scorchers we saw in the days before the Reaping. It is as if the earth itself has deflated in relief along with me. The nice air brings out more animals from the longer, summer shadows, and Gale and I make a great haul and in even better time.

We are on final approach to the district fence now, chatting about preparations for next week's hunt. "I'll set the snares for next Sunday, Gale, and then we can -"

It comes out of nowhere, as Gale suddenly stops me and cuts off my ramblings, as he takes my face in his hands and kisses me.

I am completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I have spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I haven't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which can set the most intricate of snares - can as easily entrap me.

"Ermmmm..." I think I make some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I am vaguely aware of my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then, after pushing his lips more insistently against mine, Gale just as suddenly lets me go and says:

"Catnip, will you marry me?"

My flushed, ravished and very kissed lips drop open in an astonished 'O.' A proposal of marriage sounds so foreign, coming from my best friend Gale. Not to mention the way he says it just sounds all wrong. If I have ever given thought to how some boy might ask me to marry him, I suppose I have imagined him getting down on one knee. Presenting a ring, or some other promise token. And definitely asking me for my hand with my full name - Katniss Sierra Everdeen - and not some childish nickname with an even more childish origin story (Catnip came about from Gale interpreting my introduction incorrectly, the day we first met).

All that aside, he just kissed me out of the blue. My first kiss, drawn from my mouth with no warning. I unconsciously lick my lips, and try to decide how I feel about the kiss, whether I liked it or resented it. One thing's for certain - kissing Gale makes me feel as though I'm kissing my brother. The conclusion is not far off. Everybody in the Seam is distantly related, in one way or another; I have been mistaken as a cousin of the Hawthornes often before. That soon is cleared up whenever my gorgeous mother and sister come into view, with their Merchant blue eyes and blonde hair and all around Aryan looks. Contrasted against them, I am very clearly Seam, favoring my late father.

And where does Gale get off asking me to marry him, anyhow? I am scarcely free of the chains that have bound me since the time I was a preteen, and now he wants to imprison me in the bonds of holy matrimony - a sentence that I feel is worse than a gruesome death in the Games? I thought Gale understood that tying my identity into being someone else's wife was something that I didn't want.

I should slap him. For kissing a girl without her express permission. Mother taught her girls the importance of consent in all acts of love. But instead, I merely fix him with a hard stare. "No." I say it simply, and his entire face falls, struck dumb, as I turn and flounce away, wriggling under the fence.

I don't need to say more, don't need to explain. I shouldn't have to.

* * *

Gale, of course, interprets my reticence to marry as stemming more from my displeasure at the kiss, than from the proposal itself. A week later, walking me home, he stops me and merely asks to kiss me again. Curiosity gnawing at me, I nod, perhaps against my better judgement.

Gale kisses me gently, sweetly; it isn't as raw and rough as our first kiss. The taste of his pliant mouth against my hard, unyielding one still makes me hesitantly squirm somewhat, and not out of pleasure. But I suppose it could be worse. No one else has ever kissed me, so I have no one to compare this kiss to, but I do know that some fresh Peacekeepers like to heavily use tongue while kissing, greedily sticking their tongues down women's throats. Gale does not resort to this; our lips do all the work.

Somehow, without even thinking about it or previously discussing it, we begin to part at the fence for the evening by sharing a chaste kiss, a brief peck on the lips. I would never let Gale do this in front of my house, lest my Mother becomes excited and tries to play Matchmaker for her eldest daughter. Eventually, I learn to tolerate the kisses.

* * *

Three months later, as a stubborn September signals its preference for an Indian summer, while Gale and I share a soft kiss goodnight at the fence, he asks me again:

"Katniss, will you marry me?"

I eye him skeptically, almost... amused. Even as my heart constricts with fear, while also strangely feeling as though it will be torn in two. At least he used my given name when proposing to me this time. Perhaps this is what causes me to spill the word, "Maybe?" from my throat.

I regret my equivocation almost immediately. Gale's answering smile could outshine the light of the setting sun. All over again, I feel guilty. I don't love him. At least... not yet. I think I could grow to love him. I decide to give him a chance.

"Maybe," I say again, more sure of myself this time, "after you properly court me first." Gale nods his head eagerly, and when he asks me right then and there to share a bowl of soup with him in the Hob, I readily say Yes.

* * *

Gale woos me for the better part of the next year. Spring and summer roll around again and I turn 19 in early May. Out in the Meadow, away from Mother's prying eyes and ears, Gale gives me my present: a simple gold wedding band. I can't help but feel touched at his gesture. He must have saved up weeks of his wages to buy the ring. Usually, only Merchants can afford jewelry and other trinkets of this value. I can say one thing: I admire the man's persistence. And his patience. In that moment, I decide to show him mercy. By slipping the ring onto my finger without fanfare and saying solemnly:

"Yes."

* * *

Three months later, in the cold of winter, Gale Hawthorne and I are married. I wear one of Mother's old dresses from her Merchant days. We haven't enough money to rent out a white bridal gown; except for a few well-to-do miner families, most Seam folk can't afford one, either. Merchants pass down their bridal dresses as family heirlooms - an heirloom my mother forfeited when she ran off to marry my Seam father.

We conduct an initial ceremony in the Justice Building, signing our marriage license and exchanging rings and vows as we stand before a district judge. My new husband and I are assigned a house in the Seam - close to the Hob and the border leading into Town - and Gale and I move in immediately.

There, backlit against the warm fire from our blazing hearth, Gale and I perform the traditional District 12 marriage Toasting, as we toast a bit of bread and share it. I press a piece against Gale's lips, and he does the same to mine. Then, we seal our marriage with a simple kiss, the taste of bread still in our mouths. It tastes of ash, the bread, and this taste permeates into the kiss. I tell myself it's from the char, from where Gale dropped some of the bread into the fireplace before barely managing to salvage it. But my heart knows better. Knows that it's a lie. For when my husband and I take to our marriage bed that night, it doesn't feel like home.

* * *

When Gale mounts me, I don't fight it, and I spread my legs wide for him. Wriggling against each other awkwardly and sighing out cringe-worthy groans, I tell myself it is only right and good for there to be relations between a husband and a wife. For us to make love and consummate our marriage.

If I had known how uncertain Gale would be in his movements, how sticky his juices would feel against my thigh, the pain his taking me would bring me, I would never have even bothered.

Now, half-naked and turned away from my snoring husband, I frown as I realize I have no idea what all the fuss is about. It doesn't seem worth the effort, to have sex, though all the gossip I overheard in the Hob and at school suggested otherwise.

Yes, sex is indeed a pointless invention. Except in one regard.

And though my marriage vows have supplanted my vow of chastity, though my vow of abstinence has been shattered forever with my virginity, there is one vow to which I will not prove myself unfaithful.


	2. Children

**Chapter 2: Children**

Gale and I celebrate our one-year anniversary of marriage quietly. I fell an entire buck and prepare it for our supper that evening to mark the occasion. My husband and I take our meal silently, broken only to ask about each other's day. Our mutual murmuring of Happy Anniversary is uttered with no thought. To the outside observer, it would just seem like an ordinary evening. Gale likes to have his supper ready by the time he gets home from work in the mines. We eat, sit and read by the fire, and then retire to bed most nights, occasionally having sex if I am of the mind to.

But this evening suddenly becomes very different when I hear Gale set his spoon down purposefully. I raise my eyes to his in time to see him fixing me with a determined stare.

"I want to have children with you, Katniss. Will you have my baby?"

I am taken back to the time that he first proposed marriage to me, as my mouth drops open. My spoon drops sharply with it, slipping from my grasp to land in my broth with a PLOP that reverberates unusually loudly in the now-silent kitchen.

"No," I snap, more forcefully than I thought I could muster, as I feel my heart start to thump out of control. A panic attack is looming, and I flee upstairs without asking to be excused or even extending so much as a good night.

I sleep alone that evening. Gale never comes up to bed.

* * *

The finest quality my husband possesses is his patience. He lets six months pass without another peep about a bundle of joy. When he asks me again, the question is hurled out of nowhere, on an uneventful day with no gravitas.

"Katniss, can we please make a baby?" he asks me one quiet morning while hunting. I am so shocked that my shot goes wide while releasing the arrow from the notch, so that I miss the prized turkey completely. I turn to stare at him, and my husband turns a sheepish shade of red at the loss of the bird.

I shake my head emphatically. The answer's the same. "No, Gale."

* * *

In between his second and third suggestion of the accursed topic, Gale is less patient. He asks me to have his baby again after only two months. And it leads to my patience wearing thin, exploding in our first big fight.

It is late at night, while the rest of the district sleeps, with Gale and I yelling hoarse at each other and not budging from our entrenched positions.

"Why not? When you fall in love, you get married. And when you get married, you have children. It's natural! A woman's way!"

I scoff in deep offense at his myopically sexist view of adult and married life. Not all wives become mothers, just as not all girls become wives. And on the former point, I will not give in. I will not allow such a transformation to forever shape my body, and then my soul.

"So help me God, as long as the Games exist, as long as we can starve to death in safety, I will never bear your child into this world, Gale Hawthorne!" My voice shakes as I give my vow, but out of anger and not uncertainty.

He gapes at me like a fish, as I turn to storm away. "But I love you!" he cries.

I turn and regard him sadly. "That's not reason enough, Gale."

I spend the rest of that night curled up in my chair by the fire. Soon, a sparse blanket and a few pillows plant themselves along with me amidst the upholstery. By the time my husband and I enter Year Three of our marriage, we have formally ceased sharing a bed together. After our next anniversary - our fourth - we cease to speak.

* * *

The following spring, I flatly and unemotionally move all my things out of Gale's and my house. Gale observes me pack my things sadly, finding nothing to say that might make me change my mind. He doesn't even say goodbye, in fact. Borrowing a wagon from the Goat Man, I schlep it all one cartload at a time to my sister Prim's house, which she shares with her new husband. My baby sister's Merchant looks allowed her to rise above her station, and wed Dalton Lynchbow, the Postmaster's son. He is a kind boy. A good man, and clearly dotes on Prim. They were in the same year in school starting off as friends before gradually falling in love. Prim was hesitant at first to allow Dalton to court her, but was eventually charmed by him. At 19, she is already the perfect wife.

While at 23, I have already declared my first marriage to be an abysmal failure.

Divorce as a concept, as an institution, is illegal in Panem. But everyone knows someone who is separated. It's as common as knowing someone who died in the Games.


	3. Spinster Attracts a Suitor

**Chapter 3: Spinster Attracts A Suitor**

Life goes on. Cray retires. Darius is appointed Head Peacekeeper. Two kids get Reaped. Many more die of starvation. The Baker dies. His wife, a witch of a woman who has been known to beat her three strapping sons, remarries. His oldest son takes over the family business, and the youngest - Peeta Mellark - stays on to help. Peeta and I were in the same year in school, though we never spoke at all. An interaction between us happened once, and it was years ago, when the boy tossed bread to me in a driving rain, feeding my family when we were starving. I have never thanked him for his kindness.

But I have silently implied that I am grateful, by trading bread for squirrels with him, on the back loading dock of the Bakery. It is a policy I began with his father, and Peeta keeps up the tradition. Though I can find no way to dissuade him from giving me bread finer than his father ever did. Sometimes, the loaves feel warm in my hands, clearly fresh from the ovens.

The finer foodstuffs are helpful though in one respect. In becoming an old spinster long before my time and living under the same roof as my sister and brother-in-law, I have been able to bring these goodies back to my family. And see how healthy they are to my little Prim, who is now great with a child of her own. When she first told me she was expecting, I cursed my crude tongue when my first thought was asking with dismay, "Why?"

Prim just shrugs, though her eyes and whole body it seems are glowing. "I've always wanted to be a mother."

I stare at her blankly. I don't understand. Though perhaps there are meant to be some ways in which my sister and I cannot relate, I still don't understand.

But I start to, once my nephew comes screaming into the world after 19 hours of hard labor, overseen by Mother. When I first hold my baby nephew in my arms, I get a glimmer of what I'm missing. A glimmer that maybe I no longer want it to be missing. But the want - however new - is not enough to overcome the fear. It's not worth the pain. Babies are born only to be fated to die in the arena, at the hands of the Reaping.

It is clear, from the love in her eyes, my sister does not share this view. And apparently, neither does Leevy Hatfield, the tanner's daughter. Two years after I leave him, Leevy moves in with Gale, the man who is still - in the eyes of the law - my lawfully wedded husband. I see her swollen and pregnant one day in the Hob not six months later. Their baby is born in mid-June, after a particularly disastrous Reaping. Mother and Primrose attend to the birth, and with nothing else to do, I have no choice but to tag along. The baby girl has Leevy's hair, but Gale's Seam-gray eyes. They could have been my eyes...

All the same, I turn to the man I married and I say with all sincerity, "Congratulations, Gale. I'm happy for you."

Gale smiles sadly. "Thank you, Catnip."

They're the first words we have exchanged in over three years.

* * *

The fall leaves swish around my ankles, a soft wind whipping them up as I head through Town with my game bag one afternoon. I got a late start to the woods this morning - the baby kept me up last night. I know it's not little Sorrel's fault, he's teething, but all the same I would have liked to have started earlier, and probably would have done better on kills if I had.

I approach the Bakery's back loading dock - my last stop of the day before returning home. The Hob is closed up during the afternoon hours before re-opening in the evening; thankfully, I got all my trades in there just before the black market folded up. I knock on the metal purposefully, the sound leaving an echo ringing through the alleyway. As predicted, a mop of blonde hair opens it a few moments later. A wide smile.

"Katniss! There you are! I was afraid you had taken ill or something!" The baker's concern for me makes me turn a slight shade of red, but I shrug it off as I open my game bag to show him my kills. He picks one squirrel up to inspect it, whistling low. "Right in the eye, every time," he praises. I flush again. I didn't even think he noticed a little detail like that. Then again, why shouldn't he? I've traded with him often enough.

"These'll do," he informs me with a smile. "Wait here." He disappears into the front of the shop for a moment, then comes back, with four loaves of bread tucked in his apron, passing them into my arms. "Sorry they aren't fresh - those all sold out quickly this morning, but we've had a lull since the lunch rush."

I shrug. "These will be fine. Thanks, Peeta." In truth, I have never been comfortable with him bartering off freshly baked bread to me, ones that I know have come fresh from the oven. And I have a feeling his mother would not either, if she knew, which she likely doesn't.

Peeta stuffs his hands in his pockets. "It's not fine to me," he mumbles, and I blink, certain I have misheard him. He dares to meet my eyes again. "Could I at least make it up to you with a walk back to your place? Leven has control of the front; he won't miss me."

I eye him skeptically, almost bemused. "Is this a date?" I demand, a little too harshly.

Peeta laughs awkwardly, his face suddenly bashful. "Only if you want it to be."

I subtly lean back a little, my face in a tight frown. "I don't do dates," I tell him flatly, warily. "And I don't do walks."

"That's fine," Peeta placates. "I totally understand. You've probably gotta get home to your sister anyway. See you, Katniss."

"Bye," I echo lamely as the loading dock door closes behind me.

I start off for home, my mind swirling. Did Peeta Mellark really just ask me out? He didn't confirm it when I confronted him about it (I wince now at how rude that was of me)... but he didn't deny it either. In any case, shouldn't he know that I am still technically married? No, of course I shouldn't expect that of him - the whole damn district knows by now that Gale and I are separated. That it is Leevy Hatfield and not I who is the mother of his child. Whether the eyes of the law want to admit it or not, I am very much available. Single. On the market and a taste for many men, Peeta Mellark included.

* * *

I don't hold Peeta's asking me out against him though. I continue our trades with him. I had a whole speech planned out at first, telling him that while I am flattered, I am not looking for a husband or to get married again, as my first marriage ended so horribly. But the words and my courage quickly fall out of my head, and I just as quickly learn to forget about the moment.

That didn't work in regards to Gale's and my first kiss then. And it doesn't work now.

I make a good haul one evening a week or two later, so much in fact that it takes me two trips to the Hob - one morning and one evening - to sell it all. The poor baker's squirrels are relegated to the last trade of the day, and I hurry to the back loading dock, a plethora of apologies on my tongue. Peeta looks equally as harried when he greets me.

"I'm sorry; I lost track of time and I didn't..."

"It's all right, Katniss," he says kindly, as we make our usual transaction of squirrels and bread. "I'm sorry I'm so out of it, we're just sitting down to eat." A sudden thoughts strikes him. "Hey, would you like to stay for dinner? It's getting dark and looks like a storm's moving in."

I blink at him, and in that moment of silence, my traitorous brain actually takes time to consider his offer. A sharp thump of my heart against my ribcage snaps me out of it, and pursing my lips tightly, I shake my head.

"No, thank you. Prim's waiting on me with supper. And besides..." I soften the blow by studying him, amused, "I don't think your mother would like that very much."

Peeta chuckles a little. "No, perhaps not. But I can handle her. I don't care about Merchant or Seam, Katniss - I never have."

I blink at him in surprise, touched by his progressiveness. "Thank you," I say quietly, almost effortlessly. "That's really... sweet." And I start a brisk run for home before I do something reckless.

Like... kiss him.

I arrive at home about ten minutes later.

"Primrose?" I call, stepping into the house. "I got the bread!"

"Good, Katniss!" Prim turns away from our simmering supper to accept them. "How is Peeta?"

I start, gaping at her, and Prim wrinkles her nose in confusion. "You trade with him every day, Katniss. You did see him, yes?"

"He asked to have dinner with me," I blurt out almost stupidly. "Or, me with him, I guess, I don't know. And the week before last, he asked to walk me home. It sounded like a date."

Prim's eyes widen and she dumps the loaves onto the counter, taking my hand with a squeal. I have never liked my sister's insatiable need for gossip, especially where it concerns me and my love life. When I first told her that Gale kissed me in the woods, her scream of delight nearly woke the whole Seam. "What did you say?"

I frown at her. "No, of course."

Prim gasps, looking a little hurt, put-out. "Why?" she whines, dismayed, sounding like a child.

I stare at her, my mouth opening and closing like a fish, searching for an answer. Any one would do: I'm still legally married. I don't want to get married again. I was tired. But instead, all I can manage under my sister's scrutinizing gaze is a weak "I... I don't know."

* * *

I dream of him that night.

Of course, I just had to dream about him - a dream in which we are married. Together. And... we have a child. In a world where such a child could be safe.

It's a nice dream. A lovely dream. A really, really, really  _good_  dream.

I wake up the next morning frazzled. But also determined. Rising from my bed, I dress in my blue Reaping frock and do up my hair in the single braid running down my back. I then march with purpose across Town, right up to the Bakery. As I approach, I see him at a distance, through the window. First one to rise, it seems. Like the bread he will be bringing out of the ovens. Something else starts to rise, a part of me, and I do my best to tamp it down, flustered.

I knock on the door - the front door this time - before I lose my nerve. When Peeta opens it, he looks as shocked as I feel to find me there.

"Katniss? You sure are up early," he says it with a chuckle in his voice, searching around me for my game bag.

"Come watch the sunset with me tonight," I blast out, heat blooming over my cheeks. I self-consciously run my fingers through my braid. "I... I know a great place. Pick me up at the Lynchbows' house."

Peeta looks positively delighted by my offer. Indeed, the smile on his face is blinding. "Sure. I'd love that."

"Good," I say shortly, and it falls flat. Hot and bothered, I can think of nothing else to do but race back for home, to prepare myself for the day's hunt.


	4. Divorceé Accepts a Suitor

**Chapter 4: Divorceé Accepts a Suitor**

Peeta comes to collect me that evening in front of my sister's house. Clad in my hunting gear and a warm scarf, I lead the curious Baker up to the district fence. He appears unsure for the first time as he watches me wriggle under it, knowing he will have to as well. But then, it is gone again, and he trustingly follows me under the fence, and we make across the snow-covered Meadow for the woods.

Flurries come down at a steady pace as our boots crunch the white powder underfoot. Crossing through the underbrush, we eventually come to a hill, overlooking the lake beside which rests my father's old hunting cabin. I've never taken anyone else here. Not even Gale, before we were married, or after. The sun is just finishing its descent into the sky, a sliver of it already touching the earth via the mountains beyond.

"Isn't it beautiful?" I breathe to no one in particular.

Peeta smiles. "Lovely. Just lovely." He shoots me sly, curious grin. "But why did you ask me?"

I turn to face him fully, glancing him up and down. After a moment of thought, I declare, "Because I owed you." And I did. It's repayment on a debt that's long overdue. For the bread when we were children.

The sun finally sets, coating us in a light darkness. A baffled Peeta is clearly about to ask what I meant by my comment, when the wind suddenly picks up. The flurries swirl and plummet down harder.

"Blizzard!" I cry, cursing my foolishness for being caught out in the middle of one after dark. "Let's go!" Taking Peeta's hand (and ignoring the odd jolt of electricity that shoots through me at our touch), I guide him down the hill, past the lake and we barricade ourselves inside Daddy's hunting cabin. I have never stayed in it during a snowstorm before. Will the structure hold up against the snow and wind? I guess we'll find out, one way or another.

Peeta and I pause to catch our breath, panting. I start to reconnoiter the inside of the abode... and nearly tumble to the ground as I slip suddenly. Patch of ice. I yelp, but before I keel over, warm hands brace and catch me. Peeta and I stumble back into the wooden wall, our arms about each other for purchase.

"You all right?" he asks me.

"Yeah, black ice. I'll clear it after it's light." I give him a shaky, weak smile. "Thank you, Peeta." I show my gratitude without a thought.

"You're welcome, Katniss," he accepts, also without a thought.

Then, with a light smile, we both lean in and share a chaste kiss on the lips without a thought. When we break apart, far too many thoughts are in my head for me to move. Peeta must feel the same way; he looks like someone hit him in the head with a rolling pin.

"I... I don't know what came over me. I mean, look at us, we're 26 years old and you'd think we've never kissed people before! I ... me... you..." His voice trails off, and something appears in his eyes that I've never seen before. It is similar to how Gale used to look at me, only... better. I simply watch him innocently, expectantly, and his blue eyes smolder. "You're  _gorgeous_ ," he breathes out.

My breath hitches, and then I giggle - actually _giggle_. No one has ever called me that before. Gale certainly never did.

And I certainly have never rewarded a statement like that by pushing a man up against the wall and kissing him more passionately, the way I do with Peeta now. Then a second kiss. Then a third, and fourth. Little, desperate pecks as snow flurries swirl around us, but I don't feel the cold. Peeta kisses me back just as fiercely, as I lazily drape one arm about his neck and close my eyes with a sigh. "Mmmmmmm..." His kisses fuel a hunger within me, and I think I will never be full. No matter how many times Peeta and I can't resist sharing just one more kiss. Then another. And another after that.

After about ten minutes of openly kissing, we finally get a hold of ourselves, drawing tenderly apart, panting.

"I love you," Peeta confesses to me fiercely, and I know he speaks true. I know he is true in his love.

And to my shock, I find I also speak the truth when the following words are drawn from my kissed lips, tumble from them like water: "I know. I love you too."

* * *

From that lovely first date on, I become a regular visitor at the Mellark Bakery, graduating from making trades on the loading dock in the back to helping out, on an informal basis, in the front of the store. Though she never voices the thought aloud, Peeta's mother makes it crystal clear that she doesn't approve of the idea. But she is no longer in charge of the bakery. Peeta's brother, Leven, is. And Peeta himself is taking on more and more leadership roles himself. Peeta seems surprised that other than some clear body language and silent disdain, his mother largely leaves me alone.

"I think she's afraid of you," he admits to me one evening, after we've closed up shop and we are kneading dough while alone together.

I throw back my head and trill out a laugh. "Yeah, right."

"I mean it. I think Paula Mellark's finally met her match."

I shrug. "Doesn't mean she has to like it. To her, I'm just Seam."

"And when has that ever gotten you down before?" Peeta smiles at me easily, admiringly, as I turn about in his arms from where his hands have been overlaying mine and guiding my kneading work.

I beam up at him flirtatiously. "As long as you're here... it won't." My eyelids grow heavy as Peeta draws me closer. Our lips soon meet in a passionate kiss that quickly spirals out of control, with Peeta bending me back over the counter. It's usually at a place like this where one of us has enough foresight to suggest that we stop. Only I don't want to stop. And from the way Peeta is brazenly groping me, he doesn't either.

The bell must have tinkled (neither of us hears it), for we soon are made aware of the clearing of a throat. It's certainly not mine - my throat is currently filled with Peeta's plundering tongue. We keep kissing.

"Ahem!"

Peeta and I take our own sweet time breaking apart, our arms still around each other, though we both permanently flush when we realize it is Peeta's mother who has caught us. Peeta gives her a sheepish grin, as if she has just caught his hand stuck in the cookie tin. "Sorry, Mother." He shrugs almost fruitlessly, as if to say  _I can't help it_. And he can't. He's in love.

Paula Mellark says nothing else. She merely eyes us curiously, laced with some lingering displeasure, before throwing up her hands, placing a package on a customer table, and takes her leave out the front. Despite the tinkling bell, I think I hear her mutter, "ruin of the family... they deserve each other..."

Peeta winces apologetically. "We should probably finish up..." He yelps, startled, when I suddenly flip us both and pin him to the counter, bending him over at the waist.

"I'm not done with you yet," I growl huskily. And then, cupping his face, I dip my head to ravish his mouth with mine. Pretty soon, Peeta responds in kind, his arms encircling me, and then picking me up. Sweeping me off my feet, my arms limp around his neck, he carries me away, down into the basement storeroom of the bakery...

* * *

The thunder crashes ominously overhead, mixed with a heavy, driving rain.

But down in bakery storeroom, by the light of a single bulb, the only sound that I can hear is the smacking of Peeta's and my lips as we kiss. The slapping of our sweaty bodies as we undulate, moaning, learning together.

"Uhhhhh... Huhhhh... Mmmmm... Hmmmmm... Mmmhmmmmm... Ooooooh... Peeta..."

Peeta has me up against the wall, making sweet love to me as his thrusts drive the bite of the bricks into the small of my back. I don't feel its sting, though. I only feel the loving attentions of this man as his glorious member slides in and out of my dripping wet pussy.

Peeta soon mouthes down to my cheeks, down to my jawline. Eyes drooping shut, my irises roll into the back of my head from the pleasure.

"Oh my..."

"Oh yes..."

"Oh myyyyyyy..." My voice comes out somewhere between a whimper and wail.

"Oh yes..."

"Ooooohhhh... Hmmmm... Peeta..." Seizing his face in my hands, I take his mouth ravenously, ramming my tongue down his throat. We thrust and rock against each other, faster and faster. Wherever Peeta touches, it is like a flame warms me, though it does not burn. It merely heats my skin in a way that I now crave. I know that soon, if Peeta keeps this up, it is something I can no longer withstand without losing complete control of myself. I only wish for him to touch me like this forever.

I spring my lips away from his and mouth desperately along his face, down to the sharp curve of his jaw. I work my way to his neck, and then up to nip at his earlobe as I hiss impulsively:

"If we get married, you can't  _ever_  tell me what to do."

Our lovemaking slows suddenly, then hits a lull, as Peeta pulls back to gaze at me in disbelief. Suddenly feeling quite shy, I dip my eyes away, calmly playing with a button of his shirt that I just want to push off his shoulders, but couldn't find the focus to in our haste to undress each other. I consider what I will say next thoughtfully, methodically, calling up a clear practicality.

"And I won't have children. I don't want children. Not as long as there are still Hunger Games. Babies are something to love only to become something to lose at the Reaping."

"I understand," Peeta whispers, still looking like he's in shock. And despite his haze, I know he does.

"I can hunt whenever I want. Prim and Dalton and Sorrel can visit us. And I can't promise I'll be civil to your mother."

I watch Peeta through my lashes anxiously after I finish. I have delivered the terms for this potential marriage. The ball is now in his court. Smiling encouragingly, I loop my arms lazily about his neck. "Go ahead, then," I smirk. "Ask me."

"Ask what?" he breathes stupidly.

I smile deeper. "Ask me to marry you. Propose."

Peeta finally gets a hold of himself enough to look me in the eyes and wonder, "Katniss Sierra Everdeen, will you marry me?"

I beam, pleased at how well he delivered his proposal. My happy expression shifts into a smirk as I ponder, "Hmm. Haven't gone by that name in a while." When he gapes at me, I laugh and I kiss him. "Yes," I say simply.

Euphoric, Peeta kisses me deeply on the mouth and spins us around, so we go tumbling to the storeroom floor. Rolling around in each other's embrace and groaning, we keep kissing, surrounded by flour and baking supplies. But mostly the flour. Soon, I am covered in flour. It is in my hair. On my clothes. On my skin. In the dripping wet folds that make me a woman, deposited there like pollen as Peeta's manhood pounds in and out of me, giving me the best damn sex I have ever,  _ever_  had.

I finally understand what all the fuss is about.


	5. Old Maid Takes a Husband

**Chapter 5: Old Maid Takes a Husband**

Peeta and I hold our Toasting the following autumn. The only witnesses are Prim, Dalton, Mother, and Sorrel. Peeta's brothers. The Witch makes an appearance, though leaves after the ceremony is over, bailing on the reception. Although she seems to accept that I am not going anywhere.

I wear my blue Reaping dress to our Toasting. I feel sad that Peeta and I are forbidden from standing before the district judge and exchanging vows there. I want to be married to this man in the eyes of the law. But in the eyes of the law, Gale is still technically my husband. I will have to be satisfied with this.

Roasting the bread over the fire in the back of the Bakery, Peeta and I share it. The bread is dark, rich. Full of nuts and fruit. It tastes like heaven when Peeta presses a piece against my lips, feeding it to me. But what really tastes like heaven is his mouth, as it conquers mine to seal our marriage with a wedding kiss. My solemn Seam gray eyes, dancing in the firelight, close happily as I tilt my head to deepen it.

The next day, with the help of my brother-in-law Dalton, I move into the Bakery. It smells like home. As we settle into married life, Peeta bakes. I hunt. The Games continue.

* * *

About a decade into my second marriage, I am struck with horror when Peeta returns to my sickbed the summer morning of the Reaping, his toned chest heaving with news and his eyes wild with fright. I had taken ill with a fever the night before, and mercifully got an exemption from Darius to skip the mandatory programming. Now, from what my husband frantically tells me, I am glad I did. Even gladder am I that Peeta and I agreed never to have children.

For Sadie Hawthorne, the thirteen-year-old daughter of my first husband, has been Reaped for the 95th Annual Hunger Games.

She doesn't even make it past the Bloodbath - the boy from Four ruthlessly brings an axe down on her head. She is buried, along with her district partner, in the Tributes' Graveyard, out back of the Victor's Village. Haymitch Abernathy presides over the ceremony, in a drunken stupor, just as he does every year. After the service, seeing Gale and Leevy standing off by themselves, I approach, Wordlessly, Gale wraps me in a hug.

"I finally understand," he whispers in my ear brokenly. "Why you never wanted to have children."

I draw back. "You do?"

He nods sadly. "Take care of yourself, Catnip."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "You too."

* * *

Twenty years pass. Childless and eventually barren, I grow old with grace and Peeta by my side. I have never, never been so happy. Our days are filled baking bread in the bakery, the nights filled with hot, raw sex in our marriage bed in our apartment loft above the store. I am doting aunt to my nieces and nephews from the Mellark side, though I privately maintain that my sister's babies are my favorite ones.

Eventually, however, the dull ache of pain visits me like a long-lost friend one morning, when an earth-shattering BOOM rouses me from Peeta's and my bed. A mine explosion. A big one. And indeed, when I don my shawl and hike across the Seam to investigate, I discover that District 12 has not seen a catastrophe like this in close to 50 years. Not since my father died. Since Gale's father died.

And with horror, the Foreman takes me aside and quietly informs me that my "husband" - my first husband - has perished in the explosion.

I'm free. I can't believe it. I'm free. After over thirty years legally married by law to one man, while married in my heart to another, I am finally free. Free to pronounce my name and lover openly. But this hardly registers for me. I mourn for the loss of my legal husband, but Gale's death does not incapacitate me. Not in the way that Peeta's death would ruin me.

A few days after the funeral, I approach Gale and Leevy's home - what used to be Gale's and my home - in the Seam. I rap on the door lightly and wait. Leevy emerges wearing black clothes of mourning, a dark veil draped over her face. Her eyes are sunken in and dimmed, her frame gaunt. She is all alone. Quietly, without fanfare, I hand her a bag full of coin. The District 12 government sent the compensation and family benefits ironically to the bakery, since I am technically the designated beneficiary in the event of Gale's death. I did not feel right taking it.

"This belongs to you," I declare to her. And really, it does. Leevy takes the money from me meekly.

"Thank you," she murmurs. "But Katniss," and she looks strangely guilty. "You were his wife."

"No," I smile at her sadly. " _You_  were his wife. I haven't been Gale Hawthorne's wife in over 25 years."

"True," Leevy concedes. "But you  _are_  the Baker's wife," and she actually smiles knowingly as my face turns red. With the heat blooming on my cheeks more acutely, I glance away, picking at some lint on my dress. A pause and then: "He is good to you?"

I swallow the lump in my throat, blink back my eyes full of tears, as I am moved to remember how much Peeta loves me. "Yes. He is a kind man. A decent, wonderful, generous man. He... he understands me."

Leevy picks up on the unsaid subtext without offense, merely nodding her head sympathetically. "I'm happy for you," and I can tell she is genuine. "Take care, Katniss."

I grin shakily back. "You too, Leevy."

* * *

On the morning of my fiftieth birthday, I rise, don a rented white dress, and walk with my head held high to the Justice Building to meet my husband.

Standing before the district clerk and judge, Peeta and I exchange rings and vows, pledging our lives and love to each other so that our union may be upheld and recognized in the eyes of the law. Putting a pen to the marriage license, I sign my new name for the first time, becoming lawfully Mrs. Katniss Mellark.

That night, when Peeta and I make love and consummate our marriage for the second time in over three decades, we both cry tears of joy.

"You love me?" Peeta breathes, resting his forehead against mine.

I beam at him and lightly peck my husband's lips in a simple kiss. "Always."


End file.
